


Victorious Defeat

by TheDarkMetalLady



Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Gen, Reflecting on another's life and death, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkMetalLady/pseuds/TheDarkMetalLady
Summary: As the dust settled after the end of Zargothrax's reign of terror, the survivors return to the once-mighty citadel of Dundee.





	Victorious Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by [ebonydraygon](https://ebonydraygon.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.
> 
> I do not own the Gloryhammer characters. Please note that this story is about the _characters represented by the band members_ and **not** about the band members themselves.

The Hootsman and Ralathor walked into the once-mighty citadel of Dundee. They were both exhausted and battle-weary. What many others celebrated as a victory over the Dark Sorcerer left a bitter taste in their mouths -- that of failure. 

After all, what else could they call it except for what it was? 

The two hadn't spoken to one another since the end of the battle, yet they both agreed that the immediate course of action upon entering the safety of the walls was to find the first bench and occupy it, resting their legs after returning from the battle on foot. The Hootsman laid down with his back and head resting on the bench, leaving some space for the submarine commander to sit down at the edge, near the demigod barbarian's head. 

Ralathor brushed aside some of the Hootsman's hair that had ended up covering the bench before sitting down. 

For several moments, they sat in silence. 

“So, what's next for you?” The Hootsman asked after a few minutes, unable to bear the silence much longer.

“To continue chasing Zargothrax,” the submarine commander responded. 

“But he's dead; how can you chase him?”

“He may have been defeated, but his followers and ideas were not.” 

The Hootsman groaned. “Hasn't he done enough?”

“Long ago. Doesn't mean he'll stop on his own -- I'll need to stop him.”

“Want some company?”

“I work alone.”

“My offer stands.”

“...very well, if you're not against hopping between dimensions again.”

“Never said I was against it.”

“You said you didn't like portals.”

“I don't like portals that kill me when I pass through them.” 

“Fair enough.”

“When are we heading off?” 

“Soon. We have one more matter to handle here.”

“And that is?”

Before Ralathor could respond, a woman approached them. “Commander Ralathor, is it true? Has the Dark Sorcerer been defeated?” It was Princess Iona McDougall, the princess of Fife from this era and dimension. Though having been forbidden from battle due to fear that Zargothrax would target her, she had been a major aid in the formation and functionality of the Hootsforce. By throwing her support behind Ralathor, she had doubled the size of the Resistance and helped save several hundred more Dundonians from doom at the hands of the Deathknights of Crail. Without her, the Hootsforce would have potentially ended up a failed effort.

Therefore, Ralathor could not lie to her; he owed her the full truth.

“He was, at great cost.”

She breathed a sigh of relief at the news that the war was won, but then nodded grimly. “I know many had not returned, and I had already heard word that the nuclear force had been activated.” She looked to the Hootsman. “And that a god had fallen from the skies to help in the battle.”

The Hootsman just shrugged and remained lying on the bench, not contributing much to the conversation. 

Ralathor decided that it was time to stop beating around the bush.

“The prince did not survive.”

Iona froze up, shock and horror mixing across her features. She covered her mouth with a hand, her breath hitching slightly. “Please, please say you are lying, Commander.”

Ralathor remained silent; the Hootsman mirrored the submarine commander’s somber expression. 

Iona seemed unable to stare truth in the face and looked away, a shocked sob making itself known. She took a few moments to compose herself before taking a breath and looking to Ralathor again. “I may not have known the prince from the other dimension well,” she said, blinking away a lone tear that threatened to slip out. “I know I resented him for a time, for being free when my love was encased in unbreakable ice. For being so… so casual, so youthful, even when the world around us was at the brink of falling apart. But by the Gods, I never wished for him to die!”

“We know, Iona,” Ralathor muttered as he stood, which was already more comfort than the ex-hermit usually gave. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then why does it feel like it was?!” She asked, snapping slightly. She caught herself quickly, though. “Apologies, Commander. For lashing out.”

Ralathor ignored both the comment and the apology. “If it helps, he bore no hate or blame, for you or for others.”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. It was unknown if Ralathor’s words helped.

“Tell me,” she began, “tell me about him.”

The submarine commander thought for a moment, but before he could respond, the demigod laying on the bench spoke up. 

“He was impulsive, naive, and stubborn,” the Hootsman began. “Not that anyone can blame him, when he was chosen to lead a war against Zargothrax back in that universe at the age of nineteen.”

“That’s so young!” She exclaimed. “How could this very kingdom, in the future, allow such a thing?” She appeared equally distressed and disgusted by the thought that this was the future of her kingdom in an alternate dimension. Then, the disgust changed to horror, and she stumbled over her words slightly as she asked. “How long… how old would he be, then? Now?”

The submarine commander thought for a moment. 

“Counting the month and few days spent in this dimension…” The Hootsman began but then trailed off slightly.

“Tomorrow would have been his twentieth birthday,” finished the commander. 

A complete silence fell between them. Then, without another word, Princess Iona walked away, distressed. The Hootsman sat up and almost followed her, but Ralathor shook his head.

It took several minutes after the realization before either of them spoke.

“He made it easy to forget his age,” the Hootsman commented. “He bounced back from the most arduous difficulties better than I myself would have.”

“He was everything he feared he would never live up to be, and more,” agreed the submarine commander. 

“Really blows all the others out of the water,” the Hootsman said.

Both were painfully aware that Angus McFife XIII had always felt a bit insecure under the crushing weight of the expectations and legacy his name brought. In the end, he had proved greater than all of it -- but he never got to see for himself.

The Hootsman felt the need to change the topic, for it was that or drowning his sorrows in the strongest drink he could find. “What will happen to the Angus McFife of this dimension?”

“With the sorcerer gone, the ice will break with time. He will marry Iona and undoubtedly gain heroic fame in another way, and the lineage will continue as it was meant to.” Not that they would get to see it, not with the task ahead of them. 

“Will they still be plagued by their dimension’s Dark Sorcerer, you reckon?”

“No.” Ralathor’s answer was certain and left no room for arguing. “The other dimension’s Zargothrax had ensured that, out of fear that this dimension’s Dark Sorcerer would grow to overthrow him.”

Hoots didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t get the chance to, either, for then a small device in Ralathor’s pocket rang three times. 

The submarine commander wasted no time in grabbing something to write on. As a series of beeps emitted from the device in his pocket, the ex-hermit scribbled away on the parchment, frown deepening with every second. Then, when the beeps ended, he rose from his seat.

“Let’s go,” was all he said before opening an interdimensional portal with a wave of his hand. “Another dimension needs help.”

The Hootsman was up on his feet within seconds and stepped through with the gateway side by side with the submarine commander. 

The portal closed behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry,
> 
> Want to see some of my other works or request a story? Check out my tumblr [here](https://thedarkmetallady.tumblr.com/) and my prompt and request rules [here](https://thedarkmetallady.tumblr.com/PromptAndRequestRules).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dying, mighty Prince of Fife](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883599) by [OAC_QI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OAC_QI/pseuds/OAC_QI)


End file.
